See through cellophane thoughts
of a certain cerulean sentiment
unfolds hollow clouds of multiplicity.
I am barely clad in this obvious language.
Who are you to challenge my appearance?
Night after night I scratch at origin
daring past spectres to dance with me.
Night after night my proverbial nerve
longs for love’s plain sensation
in one brief temporary thrust.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
In this waiting poem, I enjoyed the second stanza most.